By Dawn's Early Light
by angel-of-animosity
Summary: Death called him. She delivered him from it's seizing hands. Ben Tallmadge/OC
1. Season 1: Death Is Calling

**_By Dawn's Early Light  
><em>****OC Character Credits: Talisa Ravencall  
><strong>**Rated T: Some Sexual Situations, Some Foul Language, Very Descriptive Violence  
><strong>**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN TURN  
><span>Updates:<span> _Undecided  
><em>**

**{{ ~ Death Is Calling**

_**New Jersey, 1776 **_

Death was a docile hound, relentlessly pursuing until there was nowhere else to flee, leaving you no choice but to embrace the ending.

Benjamin Tallmadge swiped at the branches obscuring his vision as he plunged through the thick foliage. His right shoulder throbbed painfully, the wound seeping blood; staining the dark fabric of the waist length coat he wore.

Indistinct shouts of vehemence resounded through the dense woodlands, willing him to ignore the pain and press onward; or face the call of death nipping at his heels.

A nimble bullet wound was the least of his worries. He was fortunate air could even travel through his burning lungs, that all of his usable limbs were still attached. Gray clouds interspersed overhead, as if silently mourning the day. Dropping into a narrow gully, creek water dampened the soles of his worn boots; the rocky surface below thrust him off balance.

Regaining his footing, he grappled the moist dirt of the incline; propelling his weight forward. His pulse thumping in his temples, vision blurring for a tenth of a second; he fought the heavy fatigue sheathing his limbs.

An assuage of bullets pelted the trees, nearly missing their eluding target. _Him._

Holding the sage colored beret atop his head with one hand, he vaguely remembered what significance it held. That the unforeseen assault hadn't been an unintentional ambush.

It confirmed his every fear, and he aimed to settle the score. His legs felt overburdened as the damp booted soles sloshed with every step.

The resonating footfalls of the Queen's Rangers neared, angry shouts of execution permeated the humid air settling in his lungs, stalled his breathing. Unsure if he could attempt another step, he focused on the line of trees surrounding him.

_"Benjamin." _His name hissed through the eerie hollows like a hellion spirit, attempting to consume his soul. Closed his eyelids, his legs carried him briefly as he prayed his vision would focus.

Death would not take him, at least not easily. And he wouldn't go quietly, not without a fight.

Enemy footsteps progressed, compounding with the hoofbeat's of an equine.

"Benjamin!" The familiar voice enveloped his ears like a beautifully composed hymn. _It couldn't be._

Rays of sunlight streamed through the gray clouds above, highlighting womanly curves atop a western saddle. The sorrel gelding reared as a series of gunshots rent the air, the smell of gunpowder potent. A firm hand reached for his arm, hauling most of his weight upward, as he situated himself behind the rider.

Cushioning his shoulder with his palm, he clenched his teeth in discomfort.

"Hold on to me." A soft palmed hand guided his fingers to entwine the thickly woven belt around a slender waist. With an authoritative punt in the side, the gelding surged forward; weaving its way through the woodlands. Vengeful bellows of the Queen's Rangers echoed in the distance.

The smell of natural earth infused his senses, decreasing his erratic heartbeat. The adrenaline high lessening with every stride of the gelding's steady gait.

He floundered for a reinforced grip on the intricately embroidered belt, fingertips suddenly numb.

Longing to sweep his hand through the dark layered tresses swaying in front of him, he concentrated on stilling his breathing; letting his hands remain twined. _How had she found him?_

Her timely arrival was all that mattered, all that made a difference. And he was grateful. Though an array of unanswered questions littered his mind, he couldn't bring his mouth to form a coherent sentence.

His vision began to fade, the heavy fatigue threading its way through his already overworked limbs. He would've fought the exhaustion, if not for the capable woman astride; her motions confident and measured. He exhaled, knowing deep down that he was safe. _Delivered out of death's seizing hands._


	2. A Raven's Call

**{{ ~ A Raven's Call **

_**Setauket, Long Island 1760**_

_The scent of moist earth permeated the air, accompanied by an essence of lavender colored knotweed; a flock meddlesome fowl cried overhead. _

_Closely inspecting the wedges of wood scattered about the dense brush, Benjamin identified the soft wooded pine; the type that would season faster, but not burn as long. _

_Preferring harder wood that would indeed burn for a while; he tossed the piece onto the diminutive pile in his hands. This wasn't even his chore. Samuel, his older brother had presented a silver-tongued deal, one which he had fallen for; and lost._

_It was his duty now, to gather firewood before dusk. _A few hours more of gleaning and he'd return home. _The sun was already setting in the far east, remnants of sunlight bathed the tree limbs, a slight breeze ruffled the collar of his shirt. _

_The land was lush, made up of many farmlands fused together in different areas, opaque forests separated the properties, but became easier to navigate with memory. He preferred to stay on the foot laden trails, never straying too far off path._

_He heard from the retelling of Samuel's stories that the outer banks farther south of here were nothing, if not dead. Ever since the war between the colonies started four years ago, it had escalated from a regional affair, to an international conflict, leaving frontiers poorly conserved, and families without a home._

_He never quite understood the concept of war, but could never inquire an opinion about it without being reprimanded by his preeminent father. Ben noted his father's muzzled demeanor as foolish concealment. There was talk of the war moving closer to Setauket, since British campaigns were stationed only a few miles north._

_Ben could only imagine the uprising in his small hometown, his life shattered by the forceful blows of war. The subject that he feared most were the Indians. The indigenous allies of the French. _

_From talks overheard by many in town, they were some of the most ruthless men in all creation._

_The barbaric slayings, often initiated out of sheer ignorance sent a raw chill down his spine. How could men be so callous?_

_Placing another passable block of wood on the stack mounting in his hands, his chin abraded by the prickly bark; he started back in the direction he'd come._

_Dry leaves pelted the ground, falling from a dying tree above. The timber marked with a piece of red twine disclosed the short distance from his home._

_Bramble rustled behind him, the resounding of sticks being broken under heavy weight set him on edge. _

_Struggling to peer over the stack of wood in his hands, he could barely make out the shadow of a lone figure; muscles highlighted by the sun's rays streaming through the parted leaves overhead._

_The birds ceased in their song, the wind curtailed as an unsettling hush enveloped the forest. _

_Ben's breathing stalled, his heart rate accelerated, an alarming amount of dread coursed through him, numbing his toes._

_Just as he turned to flee, a warrior's cry resonated through the woodlands, bouncing off the surrounding trees._

_Dropping the gathered wood in his hands, Ben fled; bare feet pounding the moist dirt beneath him._

_A hand braced around his neck sent him spiraling backward, the ground bearing most of his weight. Using the brunt of his heels, he scrambled away; distancing himself from the person standing over him._

_Recognition dawned as a hearty laugh surfaced from a familiar face. The smug grin of his older brother spurred his anger. Samuel pressed his foot into Ben's chest; sprawling him on his backside again._

_"Tsk, tsk, little brother. I could've scalped you." Samuel interlocked his arms across a broad chest, his shoulder's flexing as another laugh surfaced. He was such an utter ass. And had been for many a year, being the oldest by three at nineteen. _

_Ben kept silent, closing his eyes as he inhaled, and exhaled calmly; trying to regain his bearings after the sudden scare._

_Samuel gathered a few misplaced pieces of wood in his hands. "You're due back in an hour, so you better start gathering hardwood, or you'll be stuck stoking the fire tonight too."  
><em>

_"Why don't I just do all your chores," Benjamin ventured, brushing a few strands of grass off his shirt._

_"Do you really believe I'd make you do everything?" Samuel pestered, pausing to brush a hand over his sweaty neck. "I love receiving praise from mother on your behalf, it makes me feel much more needed, you know."_

_Lifting his weight off the ground Ben delivered a well warranted shove to his brother's chest, the nudge never shifted Samuel an inch. _

_"Well take all you can, because this is the last time I'm falling for one of your underhanded ploys again." Ben stated, righting the sleeve of his worn cotton shirt._

_"If you were a girl, I'd call you naive, Benjamin." Samuel sighed dolefully. Tapping the wood stacked underneath his arm, he departed in the direction Ben was heading. "It's about time I return home, mother will be waiting."_

_Ben flexed his fingers at his sides, the melodious tone of Samuel's whistle echoed throughout the empty hollows._

* * *

><p><em>The birds resumed their chirping as he threaded his way through the overgrowth, searching for lone pieces of hardwood. Fearing his brother's torment had severely wounded his pride. <em>

_He should have been prepared for it, knowing Samuel well enough to harass him. And he had every intention of evening the score. It wouldn't be the right thing to do, but they were brothers. It was _what_ they did._

_Pulling a fragment of bark off a nearby tree, Benjamin fiddled with the scrap, before tossing it away. A cluster of birds shrouded him, obscuring his vision, their feet scraping the sides of his face, his jawline._

_Raising his hands in the air, he deflected the blows to his head. Shifting his feet, the ground gave way beneath him. Down he fell, ineffectively trying to cease the spiral along the way._

_His knee connected with a sharp rock, sending a bolt of pain through his leg. As his body rolled down the ravine; the earth coiled in front of his eyes, causing a wave of dizziness to overwhelm him._

_Grasping for any sort of leverage, moist dirt coated his fingers, embedded underneath his nails._

__Placing his hands into the chilled stream where he landed, he watched the water bypass him; pooling through his fingers and around his legs. ___His backside dampened, the fabric of his shirt absorbed the frigid liquid, coursing down his neck an temples._

_A cut on the inside of his palm oozed blood, drops of crimson tainted the water; whisked away by the unsteady currents. __Ben glanced toward the ravine, a few feathers from the cursed birds floated around him. _

_Muttering under his breath, he hoisted his weight out of the water. Turning his head, his breath caught in his throat. A tawny feminine physique outlined in buckskin material crouched low on the stream's edge, apparently trying to remain unseen.  
><em>

_Charcoal colored hair ensnared in the contorted limbs of a leafless bush, while frightened hazel eyes framed by delicate lashes stared back at him. Her throat contracted as she swallowed sharply, analyzing every nuance of his face._

_Placing his hands out in front of him, Ben hesitantly took a step forward. Her eyes widened in alarm, the branches refraining her attempts at fleeing._

_Grasping one of her wrists, he decided a more tactful approach was in order. A whimper escaped her lips, as she tried releasing the restraint on her arm; before becoming pliant._

_Extracting the silky strands from the gnarled limbs, he noticed a lone tear stream down her face. He couldn't do anything about her fear of him, though he longed to console her. _

_"There, that should do it." He whispered, loosening his grip on her arm. Connecting with watchful eyes, he noted the intricate tinges of orange and light brown circling the iris. Features too fair, and far too exotic for any woman than a clear native; riveted him. _

_Engrossed in her captivating features he missed the slight movement of her arm in his peripheral vision. _

_A light sting pelted his cheek, the result of a thorough slap. Turning his head away, Ben cushioned the side of his jaw where she'd struck him._

_Glancing toward the stream's bank, his toes sinking into the soggy earth; he noted the vacant space beside him. Where had she run off to? _

_Imprints of bare toes disappeared behind a thicket, no signs of movement alluded him to her whereabouts. Darkness crept over the woodlands, as the remaining sunlight faded behind the mountains in the far distance._

_The resounding of a bell's chime jarred him out of his search. It was supper time, and he was due back home._

_Passing a glance over his shoulder, he examined the forest with a sharp eye, nothing suggesting another inhabitant other than wildlife._

_Heaving his weight up the ravine, a piercing call of a raven taunted him; fused with the trickling water from the stream below._

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